


At Your Word

by pokey_jr



Series: The Yeehaw Chronicles [9]
Category: Red Dead Redemption (Video Games), Red Dead Redemption 2
Genre: Dirty Talk, Dominant Reader, F/M, Masturbation, Sub Arthur Morgan
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-30
Updated: 2020-06-30
Packaged: 2021-03-04 21:48:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,057
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25003405
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pokey_jr/pseuds/pokey_jr
Summary: Arthur has never had an easy time expressing his desires.
Relationships: Arthur Morgan/Reader
Series: The Yeehaw Chronicles [9]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1236257
Comments: 4
Kudos: 82





	At Your Word

You know what he’s going to ask for the moment he steps into the room. What he wants and what he needs are separate matters entirely.

To a less practiced eye, he would seem brash, offish— an uncompromising, domineering sort of man who can’t abide being told what to do. 

You can tell a lot from the way he holds his hat in his hands. 

“Evenin’, miss,” he says, looking you up and down boldly, drinking his fill of your bare skin and gaudy adornments. “I’m paid up with your Madam, so, uh...” Oh, yes, there is greed in his eyes and a healthy amount of uncertainty. That will make this fun. 

He turns his hat over and over, waiting for you to reply, finally setting it on a nearby table when you don’t. He begins shucking his clothes. At a guess, he’s an outlaw, trying very hard _not_ to be one. All about him is careworn and a little dusty. He’s handsome the more you look at him. Only his eyes are really striking, as blue as they are. Pretty boy.

You stay where you are, let him see that you are not so concerned about serving him as he should be about pleasing you. “Do you know what you want, Mr…?” 

“Morgan. A-Arthur, if you prefer. And I would have thought that would be obvious,” he says wryly, gesturing vaguely to himself, half-undressed, and around the boudoir. 

You allow him to squirm for a moment under the directness of your gaze. “ _I_ know what you want.”

He stops midway down his shirt buttons. “You _do?_ Well that’s a mighty fine trick, girl. Mind reading and all that.”

You quirk an eyebrow at him, inwardly floored at his impertinence. _What will it take to break him? To have him flushed red and panting and begging for release?_

“Oh, I can do it too,” he grins crookedly. “The spirits whisperin in the ether tell me you’re… angry.” 

“No, Mr. Morgan,” you say softly, rising from the bed at last and coming toward him. “Only a bit disappointed in you.”

He shrugs out of his shirt and reaches for you, but you swat his hands away. “Did I say to touch me?”

His eyes snap to meet yours and he blushes furiously. “No, miss, I only—“

You step around beside him, he turns his head to follow. “Did I say to look at me?”

“N-no, miss.” He quickly averts his gaze. 

Directly behind him, you note how large he seems, how broad his back and shoulders are. You would not be able to hold him down, or even unbalance him; any submission will be completely his own and the promise of it makes you hot. “I am disappointed, Mr. Morgan, because you do not seem ready to admit what you really want. Is it that you want to be _tied_ , Mr. Morgan?” You see his back tense with anticipation at that suggestion. 

“Or perhaps...spanked?” You move back around to face him, and grant him your touch, trailing your fingers along his stomach. His muscles twitch and flex; you hear his breathing grow ragged. You glance down and see the bulge of his erection in his trousers. “Oh, my. You’re stiff, Arthur.” 

“Yes,” he mumbles.

“You’re stiff and I’ve hardly touched you.” You cup him through the rough canvas and he bucks into your hand. “But you enjoy my attentions, don’t you? You see, I know you’re really only here for my own amusement.”

“Yes,” his voice catches. “Yes, miss, I do. I am.” His arms are held determinedly straight by his sides, his hands balled into knot-like fists. “Could you— I’d like—“ 

“Undo your trousers.”

He obeys quickly. Free from the fabric, his cock bobs heavily and his balls hang low. The sight of him makes your mouth water, and your mind flashes to a vision of tying him to your bed and teasing him for hours— how he would struggle and plead and finally erupt— but time runs short at the moment. 

Pressing yourself against his body, you murmur your fantasy in his ear anyway and he whimpers. “Oh lord, miss, yes, I need to— please…”

You back him onto a sofa and straddle him. He takes himself in hand at your command, stroking hard. 

“I know what you need,” you croon, caressing his jaw. He wants to kiss you, it’s easy to tell. You don’t let him.

“I need you,” he growls. You think he might break free, take control and bend you over. He is still an outlaw, after all, and who becomes an outlaw if not to take what he wants?

“You need _discipline_.” You grab his hair and pull it tight. “Something harder. You look like you could do with a good thrashing.” 

“Yes,” he pants. “Oh, fuck, yes. I’ll find you a goddamn switch myself.”

You allow him to see you smile. “Will you, now? That is quite a promise.”

“I—“ He starts. His rhythm grows sloppy. “I’ll do whatever you want. Anything.”

“Anything?” You repeat, tipping his chin up to see the heat spreading from his cheeks down his neck and chest. His eyes are dark and glazed, pupils blown black. His lust is a beautiful thing to behold. “Be careful what you offer, Mr. Morgan. I might be inclined to take you at your word.”

He nods emphatically, managing one more desperate, wonderful _yes, miss_ before his frantic movements stall. He climaxes in a spectacular fashion. His mouth goes slack, his pretty blue eyes slip closed, he moans helplessly. Ropes of come shoot from his cock, arcing up to hit his stomach and chest and once on his jaw. 

You pet his hair as he comes down from it, help him come back to himself, feeling the pace of your breath sync with his, offering quiet praise. “That’s very good, Arthur.” You rock your hips slightly. You swipe the sticky spend off his chin and hold your thumb to his mouth. He licks it off happily. There is adoration in his eyes, such a purity in it that you don’t think you can bear it. But you stay close to him, keeping carding your fingers through his hair and brushing your knuckles on every bit of his exposed skin. He has pleased you and he deserves to hear it.


End file.
